Closer
by Channel D
Summary: Ducky has invited his friends from NCIS to join him and his mother at the folk festival where he volunteers. It will mean a lot to one of them. Oneshot, written for the NFA Pop Festival challenge.


**Closer**

**by channelD**

_written for_: The NFA _Pop Festival_ challenge. The aim of the challenge is to have ont of the NCISers invite the others to a music festival.  
_rating_: K plus  
_genre_: drama

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS nor of folk music, just a deep appreciation for both.

- - - - -

"_Please, won't you be my guests? I'm flattered that the festival is honoring me in this way. It's a non-profit organization, so free tickets are the most they can do. Twenty years! It hardly seems like I've been volunteering there for that long. I feel honored just to be a part of it. And I hope all of you will come and see how enjoyable the festival is."_

- - - - -

Gibbs' car pulled onto the grassy field just as Abby's did. They had made the decision earlier to carpool, as Ducky had recommended. Out of the first car spilled Gibbs and Tony; from Abby's came Abby, Tim, and Ziva. Jimmy Palmer blithely ignored the volunteer parking attendant's directions and parked behind Abby on the grassy "lot", then sprang out to assist Ducky's mother in getting out.

Victoria Mallard stood, leaning slightly on her cane, and took a deep breath. "So many memories," she said, smiling broadly.

Ducky came bounding up to greet all of them. He'd already been here for three hours. "Welcome, welcome!" he cried. "Welcome to the Foggy Bottom Folk Festival. I do hope you find pleasure in it."

- - - - -

Aside from Victoria, none of the others in the group had ever been to a folk fest, much less the Foggy Bottom one. They already knew, from what Ducky had told them, that the festival was 51 years old, and long ago had outgrown its space in the Foggy Bottom area of Washington. Its current home was in Virginia, but the name stuck. It sounded nice, for one thing.

Ducky had worked on his friends from NCIS until they said they'd come. How could they not? Ducky was so eager, and they had become curious about this extracurricular passion of his.

Only his mother knew what to expect—as much as her aged memory would reveal to her. "I remember the cliff over the river," Victoria said. "We had singers who would perform there; their voices so sweet and fair."

Ducky frowned momentarily, considering. "I believe you must be thinking of back home, in Scotland, Mother."

She looked confused, briefly. "Oh. Well, perhaps you're right, Donald. You usually are."

"It's nice of you to invite all of us, Duck," said Gibbs, smiling broadly. "Is there a lot to see and do here?"

"Oh, my, yes. There's almost every flavor of folk music imaginable, plus folk dancing, and you'll find some folk crafts for sale."

"And food?" Tony asked, rubbing his stomach. Appealing smells were already wafting their way.

"Certainly. It's everywhere. Now I just have one small favor to ask of you…" Ducky beckoned them all in closely, while Victoria stood apart, admiring a patch of marigolds. "Normally, one of the volunteers here looks after Mother while I'm working in the first aid tent. I only am on half the day, you see, and then my time is my own. Mother knows this area well…she used to be a volunteer here, too…but I can't let her wander alone anymore." With a trace of sadness, he glanced at the 90+-year-old-woman. "So would you…?"

"Of course, Ducky," Ziva said, just as Abby said, "We'd be glad to."

"We can do it in shifts," said Tony. "Two of us together, and then switch off."

"Sounds fair to me," said Jimmy, and Gibbs and Tim nodded.

"What are you talking about?" asked Victoria, suddenly. She narrowed her eyes on seeing Tony. "Aren't you my Italian gigolo? What are you doing here?"

"Ah…" said Tony, while the others fought to keep from laughing.

But Victoria seized on Tim, next. "You're our paper boy! Well, I haven't got money for you, boy; you'll have to see my son about that."

"Mrs. Mallard, I'm not—"

"Don't even try, McGee," said Abby, laughing. "Mrs. M, maybe you'd like to join Ziva and me, and show us your favorite things here?"

"Why, yes, Abby; I would," said Victoria, taking her arm. "Girls' day out." Ziva joined them, with a smile and a wave back to the others.

- - - - -

Victoria did indeed know her way around. "Bluegrass players," she said, nodding to a stage. They stood and listened for a few minutes to the three men on the stage; two with banjoes and one with a guitar. "Foggy Mountain Breakdown," said Victoria. "The song is a classic."

Abby and Ziva were awed. With the rest of the audience, they applauded with vigor.

"Victoria! Nice to see you!" one person or another said to her, in passing, and she would smile and wave back to them, and sometimes greet them by name.

"I've never really listened to banjo music before," said Abby, "but that was way cool!"

"Then let's go over here, to this next stage," said Victoria. "This is strictly for fiddles. Besides, I see a bench where we can sit in the shade. Perhaps one of you girls could get me an iced tea?"

Ziva trotted off to do so, and when she returned, a fiddler was playing an Irish tune. Victoria hummed along, and tapped her shoe in time with the music. "When I was a young woman," she said, "I sang many of these songs. It was said I had a good voice…I do so love coming here each year. To remember…"

Abby patted her hand. She liked Ducky's mom, but felt bad for her. Dementia had robbed Victoria of many memories, and it was hard to know whether those she did remember were real or fanciful.

A fiddler from West Virginia, all of nine years old, took to the stage next, her banjo-playing daddy in the background. Victoria sang softly along with the tune.

_Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man  
__Washed his face in a frying pan  
__Combed his hair with a wagon wheel  
__Died with a toothache in his heel_

"There is something about that that I do not understand," Ziva whispered to Abby. "Like, all of it."

"I remember that song from why I was in school," Abby whispered back. "It's a nonsense song. Just made up for fun."

"Oh." Ziva pushed aside her thoughts of Americans being strange. Lots of countries had nonsense songs. She paid attention, and found herself grinning with the improbable lyrics.

At the end of that piece, they listened to one more, and then Victoria stood up. "Much more to see and hear," she said. "Ziva, do you like klezmer music?"

"Very much," Ziva smiled.

"Well, that's over here. Follow me."

"What is klezmer?" asked Abby.

"It's Eastern European in origin. Very old, traditional Jewish origins, but very lively. I've heard it called 'Jewish Bluegrass', but it's much more than that. I want to dance when I hear it," said Victoria, earning another smile from Ziva. They took seats under a tree, and listened to the delightful, rippling melodies in minor chords.

Gibbs and Jimmy found them there. "Would you like to take a break?" asked Gibbs. It was a subtle way of introducing the changing of the guard.

Abby looked at her watch. Two and a half hours had flown! "Sure, I guess so," she said, trying to put a smile into her voice. She was surprised to realize she'd enjoyed the time with Victoria. Now she and Ziva would have to figure out the place on their own.

"I think I need lunch," said Jimmy as the two women walked off. "How about you, Victoria? Are you hungry?"

"Well…if you're going to have something, Jimmy, I wouldn't say no."

"Excellent," said Jimmy, who'd been to the Mallards' often enough to know how to steer Victoria. "There's a bunch of food stands and picnic tables over here." And so they went, Victoria still receiving greetings from people.

After sandwiches and drinks, Gibbs and Jimmy let Victoria guide them. They stopped to watch at a stage where couples were dancing to Scandinavian _gammel dans _music. Evidently they had come to the end of an hour-long set, for the next group up were young clog dancers. Gibbs thought of Tony, with a grin, but didn't say anything.

"I can't dance anymore," Victoria murmured, sadly. "It's not in my knees. But oh, when I was younger…"

"Victoria! Hello! Good to see you!" said an enthusiastic man, coming out of nowhere. He wore a Chief's badge on his shirt. One of the festival organizers, no doubt. "We missed you last year!"

"Last year?" Victoria said blankly.

"You were at home with a cold, Ducky said."

"Oh. Yes, I believe I was. And I am forgetting my manners. Travis, this is Jethro Gibbs and Jimmy Palmer. Both of them work with Donald. Jethro, Jimmy, this is Travis Goodrich; one of the founders of the FBFF."

Travis laughed. He was only about 40 years old. "No, you're thinking of my father, Victoria. But I literally grew up in this. I was eight weeks old at my first FBFF." To Gibbs and Jimmy, he said, "Victoria's showing you around, is she?"

"Doing a fine job," said Gibbs. He could see in Travis' eyes that he understood the situation, and he appreciated Travis' respect for Victoria's dignity.

"Well, I've got to get back to work," said Travis. "I just wanted to come by and say hi."

"Nice young man," said Victoria. "He's one of the founders of the festival, did you know that?"

- - - - -

Tony and Tim had the third shift with Victoria. She looked a little surprised when she saw them, and they reintroduced themselves to her. Still, there was no real recognition in her eyes.

"Where would you like to go, Mrs. Mallard?" Tony said cheerfully.

"To hear the singers," she said firmly. "That's what I enjoy the most. I did a lot of singing as a girl."

"I'll bet you were good at it," Tim said with a kind smile.

"I was better than good, young man. I won awards. I performed at folk festivals all over. They loved me."

Tony exchanged a glance over her head with Tim. If that's what the old woman wanted to believe, they would go along with it. She was their friend Ducky's mom, after all.

They listened to singer after singer, under the largest tent on the fairgrounds. Celtic singers. African singers. German singers. Mexican singers. A cowboy singer had Ian & Sylvia's _Someday Soon _in his repertoire; a Hawaiian singer enchanted them with _Aloha 'Oe._

Ducky caught up with them at that point. "I am so sorry I'm late; as you may have noticed, it's warm today and crowded. We've had four cases of heat exhaustion this afternoon, including a pregnant woman due in two days who has no business being here in this heat and humidity. I sent her home. But now my replacement has arrived and I can enjoy the remainder of the afternoon, until it closes."

"It closes?" Tim asked, curiously. It was only 5 o'clock, and the sun was still high.

"This is the last day, and Sunday," said Ducky. "People need to pack up and go home." He waved to Gibbs, Jimmy, Abby and Ziva, and they came over.

Travis Goodrich was seen entering the tent, and looked around. Spotting Ducky, he rushed over. "You treated Lazlo…?"

"He's off with food poisoning, apparently. Too many corn dogs, I'll wager," Ducky said with mild criticism. "I did send someone to tell you. When are you going to get a cell phone like the rest of us, man?"

Travis wrung his hands. "We need a closer…and no one's prepared…"

"Excuse me, Travis…"

He smiled at her, fondly. "Something I can do for you, Victoria? If it's simple, that is. I'm in a minor panic here."

"I was just thinking…I could…"

Travis' eyes widened. "Could you, Victoria? Do you really think you could??"

"My dear fellow, it isn't as if I haven't done it many times before. Right in this very spot, too."

He hesitated, for just a moment, and then nodded. He would take a gamble. "All right. Beulah will assist you."

Abby gaped. "Mrs. M! What are you doing?"

"Just what I've done most of my life. My recent memory may be a little weak, but I haven't forgotten the songs of my youth. Now come help me up, young men," Victoria said to Tony and Tim. "Stairs do bother my knees a little."

- - - - -

In half an hour, the folk festival afternoon was winding down. Many patrons had already left, but the regulars, the stalwarts, gathered at the big tent for the finale, the traditional end to the festival program. Unexpectedly, for singer Lazlo was the one billed, they saw an old woman, walking with a cane, come out on stage and go to the center microphone like a pro. About a third of the audience recognized her, and cheered wildly. She smiled, nodded, and endured the camera flashes until the audience quieted down.

She looked out at the crowd of nearly 900 people. And once again, in her memory, she was young and spirited, always on the lookout for a handsome man in the audience. Her long dark hair was curling down her back, down the gingham dress with the high collar and cuffed sleeves. She had been on stage a hundred times; she never tired of it.

Then in a magnificently pure voice, Victoria Mallard started singing a centuries-old Scottish-Irish song. The audience listened, spellbound.

_Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company.  
And of all the harm that ere I've done, alas was done to none but me.  
And all I've done for want of wit, to memory now I cannot recall.  
So fill me to the parting glass. Goodnight and joy be with you all._

_Of all the comrades that ere I had, they're sorry for my going away,  
And of all the sweethearts that ere I had , they wish me one more day to stay,  
But since it falls unto my lot _

Here the stage started to fill behind her with the other singers of the festival. They joined in; a few at first, then all.

_that I should rise while you should not,  
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call, "Goodnight and joy be with you all!"_

The applause was deafening. Someone brought out a bunch of pink roses for Victoria. She was roundly hugged and kissed. "That concludes the FBFF for this year," said Travis, at the mike. "Thank you all for coming, and we'll see you next year!" But no one heard him. Their eyes were still on Victoria.

"Not bad for an old lady," she said. The microphone picked that up and the audience laughed and cheered again. The NCISers were on their feet, with the others, whooping.

"Help me down the steps, boys," she said to Tony and Tim, who'd come up beside her to do just that. To Travis, she said, "This is my Italian gigolo, and this is the newspaper boy. Hang on, boy; as soon as we locate my son, he'll pay you for the week's papers."

"Mother, you were tremendous," said Ducky, hugging and kissing her.

"Not bad for an old lady," she said again.

- END –


End file.
